—Scene 28— Guardian Of His Kin

"By all means you should not even be awake right now, let alone alive Sir," The pain on Sir Christian's side began to subside as Cuthbert's apprentice applied a small vial of Holy Water over his open wound. The chorus of moans—just as haunting as when Christian first arrived in the medical tent continued their ethereal song. Some voices faded through the morning only to be joined by new ones awaiting their turn outside. Christian listened to the low melody of fear and resignation, afraid to see who still lay beside him—and who had already taken their quiet exit from the choir.

"I don't know what part you have in The Divine Plan but I tell you in earnest that I don't envy it," The water bubbled as it turned a dark red before becoming pitch black. "This is not a normal wound Sir Christian." The gash by his ribs slowly closed– stitching itself together under the once Holy water. 

A burning sensation followed as the cleric pulled the water back into its vial. What was left was an abnormal dark scar around the closed wound and a lingering tightness in his abdomen muscles.

Eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at the canvas above him. Christian heard the man but was too busy replaying the night in his head. His orders to cover his rear as he made it towards Cuthbert's cell. The screams of the men he left behind as he rushed towards the hill. They harmonized with the chorus in the tent.

He reminded himself of the battle report he was given as soon as he was brought back to camp.

Forty-Seven fallen. 

Sixteen injured. 

'Fifty-one fallen and twelve injured' 

Four comrades left the tent waiting for their turn with the one cleric in their convoy. The same one that was busy healing him. The guilt of abandoning his men to save Cuthbert grew with each new fallen comrade.

The priority the cleric and his men gave to his wounds didn't help make it any easier either. Rion was the only cleric in the camp– smuggled by Sir Christian himself. Lord Haart's adherence to magic users during this campaign was absolute, he didn't want the condemned to have any opportunity to corrupt any of the Brotherhood or garner support from them for that matter. Rion hid in Christian's quarters never leaving the carriage– content buried in his books all day. Rion was of like mind when it came to Cuthbert's innocence– adamant to help Sir Christian free him by any means he could.

"Fascinating…," The young cleric held up a vial that once contained Holy Water with the dark matter he pulled from Sir Christians injury. The impure liquid continued to bubble. "The properties of this doesn't neutralize when exposed to Holy Water. On the contrary, it burns the water. I could even feel it burning my magic as I extracted it from you." The cleric set the vial aside, tapped Christian's shoulder, and gestured for him to sit up so he could apply the bandages around his abdomen.

He clenched his teeth as he worked his body upright– all the while leering at the vial bubbling beside him. The same darkness that surrounded his old friend as they rode off.

"I disinfected as much as possible but that dark matter I found in there didn't dissociate completely from the 11th rib and soft tissue around it. The wound was deep but it missed any major organs. Had the intestines been nicked even a little, you would've gone into septic shock long before we found you."

The cleric finished applying the bandages and motioned for Christian to lay back down. With the wound on his side finally closed and bandaged, Rion turned his attention to the stake in his thigh.

"What exactly were you fighting?" 

Christian didn't know how to tell Rion that the wound wasn't from the enemy but from Rion's old mentor. He wasn't even sure if he could still defend Cuthbert after what he witnessed last night. The glowing green eyes of the undead knight still lingered clearly in his mind.

"Brother Rion, I think the less you know the better you'll be– ahhhh" 

The young cleric had both hands on the stake protruding from Sir Christian– eyes closed in concentration. The wood burned under his flesh as Rion worked on cauterizing the bleeding while reconnecting the muscles and fibers around the artery. 

Sir Christian seethed in pain as he gripped the side of the cot.

"Try not to move Sir, repairing the middle tunica requires a delicate weave." Rion used the wood as a conduit to guide the invisible tendrils of magic from his hands to clamp onto the torn artery, exciting the cells to grow and pull towards each other as they closed the tear within Christian's leg.

He tried his best to ignore the procedure that was happening but every tug of the stake as Rion pulled it out, brought him back to the sizzling sensation in his thigh. 

Sweat trickled down Christian's face as he forced his breathing to match the rhythm of Rion's movements—exhaling with each painful tug.

Even with his eyes clenched shut, he felt the flap of the tent lift and heard the deliberate, heavy footfalls of a man walking towards him. 

He didn't need to look– he preferred not to. He already knew.

Lord Haart.

The knight-commander didn't wait for an acknowledgment.

"Where is he?" he barked. Christian opened his eyes only to have sweat rush in to add to his ever growing discomfort– he wiped as much sweat from his face as he could using a rag that laid near the vial of unholy water.

"Sir please– I'm almost done." Rion never once opened his eyes as he reminded Christian that he was still being operated on.

Christian opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sting. Lord Haart stood at the foot of the cot, his cerulean surcoat in pristine condition– cavalier hat ready for the morning sun.

"If you're asking about Cuthbert," Christian winced, voice low.

"He's gone."

Christian could feel Rion's grip tightened at the mention of his mentor's name. 

"Gone," Haart repeated, as if he was hearing the word for the first time.

"And pray tell where he's 'gone' off to?" Haart's voice was leveled but the venom oozed off his every word.

'He escaped on horseback after I failed to rescue him.' Christian held his tongue, at the thought. In all earnest he didn't believe that Cuthbert managed to get away in the state that he was in. 

He wanted to believe.

'If that still even was Cuthbert,' Sir Christian pressed his hand over the wound Cuthbert left him.

"I searched for him during the battle. His cell was in shambles by the time I got there. Cuthbert was nowhere in sight."

Haart stepped forward, towering over the cot and dug his fingers into Christian's wounded thigh. 

"ARRRG!" Blood seeped through the fresh bandages, but he grit his teeth and held still—refusing to show weakness under Haart's fury nor interrupt the procedure at hand. Rion continued as stoic as when he began– concentrating on his trade and nothing more.

"Don't lie to me!" Lord Haart removed his grip yet the muscles in his jaw stayed clenched tight. 

Sir Christian didn't want to alarm the other patients or the cleric about the undead knight he fought but the Lord wasn't giving him much of a choice.

"Fine! I saw him– he was abducted by an undead horsemen." Christian shuddered at the thought of those glowing green eyes. "I couldn't save him." The moans went silent at the mention of the undead horsemen.

Skeletons were one thing for the pious men to witness but to be near something so evil as undead knights. It was something they've only read about in legends of old. It was the first time Sir Christian actually looked at the fellow men in the tent with him. All of them were staring at him nervously– some in horror as they prayed quietly to themselves.

He met each and every man's stare with one of his own– honest but stern.

Christian pointed at the blackened vial still bubbling by Rion's medical kit with his eyes. "The fiend struck me down before I could stop it." A bit of a lie on his part but he didn't want everyone to think Cuthbert was corrupted. The cries of fear as Cuthbert whimpered for death last night still gave him hope that his friend was fighting the corruption.

Still alive.

Haart's expression didn't change, but he hesitated to give a response to what he just heard. Afraid to lose face in front of the men that he was supposedly in charge of.

"Do you take me for a fool Sir Christian?" The harshness in his voice was gone– only to be replaced with his mock formality. "A ghost knight riding under moonlight?" The lord chuckled to himself. "You really do know how to weave tales from nothing"

"I'm telling you we were fighting two different ene–" Lord Haart interrupted Christian before he could explain the zeitgeist of the battle last night.

"We are both fully aware that this ambush was of another nature. That of lowly marsh creatures– that of the same kind as the despicable merchant that sold us the harpy meat just the day before."

"The despicable merchant you refused to chase?" It was a petty attack Christian noted but his pain at the moment was getting the better of him. Seeing Lord Haart reminded Christian why his men were suffering without more clerics— from an attack that could've been avoided.

"Our search for Cuthbert has begun with men heading in all directions. One of our horses was found dead in the woods nearby. Claw marks fashioned around its neck. As entertaining as your flair for fantasy is Sir Christian I do believe we must seek out the troglodyte's den if we are to find our missing prisoner."

Rion pulled the last of the stake from Christian's leg– quickly adding some Holy water over the wound to close it up and pull anything foreign that could cause infection to the knight. He untied the tourniquet around Christian's thigh before pulling the contaminated holy water and tossing it to the floor. The cleric stood up and began to tidy up his work space hastily– collecting his things quietly, hoping to not draw any attention from Lord Haart. 

Sir Christian grabbed the skittish man on the shoulder. "Rion I can't begin to explain how grateful I am to have you here with us" Rion looked shocked at the praise– his eyes darted between Lord Haart and SIr Christian uncomfortable with the lack of attention Lord Haart was getting.

"I will be sending one of my men in here to help you with anything you may need. Please heal my men as best as you can."

"I will do my best Sir!" He firmly placed his hand over his chest in consternation.

"May the Light continue to shine on you Brother Rion" The knight placed his fist over the Sol Crest on his chest.

Lord Haart stood there glaring at the two, awaiting the attention he felt he so rightly deserved.

Sir Christian brought his attention back to the Lord– both fuming at each other while feigning civility.

"What would my Lord suggest we do?" Sir Christian began to sit up– he could feel his injuries throbbing at the sudden effort.

"I have an old acquaintance–" 

"Sir Christian, please you need rest. Your body is in no condition to be moving around." Rion interrupted at the sight of Sir Christian moving his legs off the cot. Lord Haart shot the meek man a glare that made the man sink back.

Christian gave a quick smile and raised a calming hand to the cleric. "Your concern is appreciated Brother Rion, I'll exercise caution to whatever extent I can today." Christian stood up giving the Lord his undivided attention– the pain in his body doing the same to Christian. "Continue my Lord."

Rion scurried off to another cot, making quick work at prioritizing who needed urgent care.

"I have an old acquaintance south from here who might be able to shed some light on our current dilemma." Lord Haart studied the injured man carefully– irritated at his current conformity. He turned to leave, pausing only long enough to hint that he expected Sir Christian to follow. 

He did– hiding each painful step as best he could.

'This was no place to hold council over such sensitive matters' Christian could tell that was what the Lord was thinking by the disgust painted all over his face at seeing the wounded men– as if surrounded by rotting trash.

Christian turned back one last time as Lord Haart held the tent flap open for him– placing each man's name to memory. The morning sun was barely over the hills but it still blinded Christian as he stepped outside– eyes squinting as he acclimated to the light. Corpses surrounded the Medic Tent– each covered with whatever linen the troops could find– mostly the personal bedding of each of the fallen.

Sir Christian would commit their names to memory as well– for the forty-seven men who fell victim during last night's raid.

They would all be mentioned in his morning prayer, before leaving on whatever assignment he expected Lord Haart to appoint him. 

Lord Haart noticed Christian focus veer to the half eaten men and graves being dug in the distance. 

"Those vile brutes" Christian turned back to see Lord Haart staring at the graves. "They had some sense to take out my men first before going for yours" Christian only listened in silent resignation. In his condition he could barely hold a fist up to a child– let alone a man who he would wager didn't leave his quarters until moments ago. "Mark my words, we will get justice!" 

The words felt hollow– lifeless.

"As you say my Lord." Sir Christian responded in turn with false deference. 

"Yet as it stands my personal attendants are no longer… with us. And I am long over-do my morning meal." His indifference to the situation was something Christian was incapable of comprehending– despicable to hear over the solemn activity in camp.

"Do make sure to send someone over to my quarters before you leave for Selatan, to investigate the troglodyte's hideout. It's important for the men to know at least one of us is composed in crisis. I must be at my best to guide our forces through this calamity, after all." He placed the back of his hand over his forehead. 

"It wouldn't do our men any justice if both their Commanders collapse of exhaustion, would it?"

Sir Christian stared ahead, past the tents, the graves, and the man beside him. Not toward the road—but back, to the hill, to the shadows that had stolen his friend.

His prayer that morning would not be for the dead. 

It would be for the damned.